


Sometimes my bedroom walls become my only friends

by catwithoutears



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Drug Addiction, Established Relationship, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:20:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwithoutears/pseuds/catwithoutears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to remember where it went wrong, where Frank started to throw violent punches instead of joking ones and Gerard got too deep into his own dark thoughts, but it's all a fog of beer and kisses; one minute they were fine and suddenly Gerard can't hear what Frank is saying anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes my bedroom walls become my only friends

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!!  
> A lot of things can be very triggering, so please be safe! See the tags.
> 
> I have no idea where this come from, I started writing and then this sort of just happent.  
> I swear I'm not insane, I just have a fascination with fucked up stuff.
> 
> Title is from "Besitos" by Pierce The Veil

Gerard can't remember how it got this way, he was always too drunk to catch half of the shit that happened over the last six months, all he knows is that right now everything hurts and Frank is angry with him, he's yelling at him but his head pounds too hard to catch any of it.  
He should have learned from all the times they've done the same dance, should know that if he screams at Frank to stop yelling it'll hurt in more places than his head, that Frank will punch him anywhere he can reach, and that stumbling out of bed will only leave him lying on the floor because Frank kicked him, that crying will only make his head hurt even more.

But he doesn't, and when he screams to make Frank shut up, he's not making sense and his brain feels like it's going to explode and splatter the walls of their bedroom. It feels like he's being dragged through hell and back, like he's being sliced apart with a thousand glass shards and the only thing he wants is to get his mouth on a bottle so he can drown all of it out and not feel a single thing.

 

He doesn't really want out - well, he does, but in a different way, and he would never do that, he could never do that to Frank.  
Because between the shouting and the cursing and the bruises and the booze, Frank touches Gerard's face with feather light fingers, kisses him like he's drowning and Gerard's lips is the only thing keeping his head above water, holds him close when Gerard wakes up screaming, holds his hand when Gerard feels like he's going insane. And when Frank looks at him, Gerard gets this tight feeling in chest, and he knows that that's why he's still sticking around, because it's love he can see in Frank's eyes. And Gerard feels it too, so much he goes crosseyed from thinking about it.

So when Gerard hits his shoulder against the door frame, it hurts, but he knows it's only for so long, and when Frank shoves him in the back and screams at him to get a fucking grip, he keeps walking and doesn't say a word because it hurts to talk and he's so fucking tired. And he downs half the bottle of vodka that's on the coffee table even though it tastes like shit, just to take the worst of the headache away and take the edge off Frank's hurtful words.

He doesn't want to think about it, he wants to pretend like he doesn't already know the drinking has been out of hand for months, that he can't go a day without the pills, and that he isn't sure who he wants to shoot first, Frank or himself.

He wants to remember where it went wrong, where Frank started to throw violent punches instead of joking ones and Gerard got too deep into his own dark thoughts, but it's all a fog of beer and kisses; it feels like one minute they were fine and suddenly Gerard can't hear what Frank is saying anymore, and he wants to fucking die. Because there's no way out of this and he knows it's his own fault for letting himself slip. For letting it all slip.

When Gerard met Frank he was all bright smiles and lingering touches, but the person that glares at him from the doorway isn't the boy he met at the punk show. This Frank spits and curses and flings venom at him; it's like he slowly became something dark and hateful, but Gerard was too far out of it already to notice. This Frank calls him a coward and slams doors in his face, and the only way Gerard knows how to keep the hurt it causes at bay is to take more pills when the old ones start to go down, he doesn't know how much longer they'll be able to go on like this. Frank makes him feel awful about himself, makes him want to slash his wrists without leaving any note, but then he'll come running back to tell him he's sorry and makes Gerard feel okay again, makes him feel like sticking around isn't that bad after all. He makes Gerard feel loved, in love, or maybe that's just the booze making his head spin, all he knows is that he loves Frank too fucking much to leave.

 

Gerard gets so fucked up that he doesn't remember Frank coming home, and when he wakes up with a pounding head and no one answers his calls, he figures he never did.  
All it takes for the fear and loneliness to fade is a couple of pills, and he doesn't think about Frank until he wakes up on the floor and he realizes it's been two days and that there are no pills left. And Frank still isn't back.

Gerard feels like he's losing his mind, he drinks all the beer left in the fridge and every half full bottle he can find in the grimy apartment, until he passes out, and when he wakes up alone again, the whole world seems to cave in on him.

His phone tells him that it's Thursday, that means he's been alone in the apartment for four days, eating away at himself and rotting on the inside. Now there's no more pills and there's no more booze, and his body feels like it's being pierced by a thousand needles, and god, he hates those; he feels like he's being burnt alive and in the blurry, dark edges of his vision he can see demons creeping up on him.

He feels like he's dying, but he knows that he isn't - he's just going through withdrawl - and the thought of coming out clean on the other side of it makes him want to puke. Frank left him, without saying goodbye and Gerard let himself sink so deep into his self destruction that now he can't get out. Everything hurts, but now there's no Frank to kiss it better and tell him it's going to be okay, now it's just his own thoughts to keep him company. And that realisation alone rips a scream from his lungs; this is where it ends, this is where Frank's mischievous grin would eventually lead him.  
Right into his own personal hell.

 

There was never any reason for the razors to be locked away or hidden because Gerard could never leave Frank like that, with no clue save for a few tear stained words, so it's easy.  
It's easy now, because Frank is gone and Gerard doesn't have to promise him anymore.  
He's done this before, back when he was seventeen and wanted to die because he couldn't fucking get himself out of bed in the morning and his shrink told him that his sadness was just a diagnosis. He did it because his mum told him to go have fun with his friends, but she didn't seem to understand that nothing was ever fun anymore and he didn't have any friends.  
So it's easy to put the blade to his skin, it's familiar and he can pretend he is still seventeen, pretend he never bumped into the guy with beautiful hazel eyes at the first show he went to after he was signed out of the hospital.

He presses down hard and it stings, but it's hardly anything against the throbbing pain that soars through his veins from the withdrawl. He doesn't remember it being so much blood spilling into the floor from last time, but that was years ago, and he didn't cut deep enough, clearly, since he fucking failed.  
This time it's deep enough, he can feel it; his head starts get woozy and his vision is framed in black smoke. He feels light headed, black spots flashing before his eyes as his body becomes heavy. He's hallucinating, he sees Frank in the doorway for a second, then he's suddenly a lot closer but Gerard can't feel his breath on this face. His mouth is moving, like he's trying to tell him something, but the only sound Gerard hears is a sharp ringing in his ears. He barely feels fingertips at his cheek, and then the black flecks in his vision gets denser and eventually everything turns black.

 

It doesn't make sense at first when Gerard blinks and it doesn't hurt, he feels like he's floating, but not like he's drunk, and a bright light makes him squint his eyes.  
It takes a while before his eyes adjust to the light, and he recognizes the drug induced feeling of not being strong enough to move his limbs. A near overdose, then, and he thinks "fuck, again?", before slowly, the absolute white he sees changes into faded colours, then brighter hues, and then he sees the white sheets in front of him -no, on top of him- and the sickly mint green walls and he feels it burn in the back of his eyes.

He wants to throw up.

He moves his eyes, even though it takes effort, and they land on a face; and it's the only face he ever wants to look at.

Frank doesn't want to talk about it, he just sits in the chair beside the hospital bed and looks at Gerard with bloodshot eyes. He doesn't have to say he's sorry he left, Gerard can see it in the way his hands tremble as he reaches over to hold Gerard's hand.  
He doesn't have to tell him where he was or why, because Gerard doesn't care about any of that, he only cares about the fact that Frank is there with him, what it means for the both of them. And if Frank is fine with not asking questions, then Gerard won't either.

It's better that way.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I'm not a psycopath.
> 
> What do you think?


End file.
